


Stagger

by CoralFlowerDaylight (CoralFlower)



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: JD cries a lot, Suicide mention, alcohol mention, also he dies, misery/missouri pun, references to dead girl walking, thats why its T lol, the midwest is so fucking humid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 22:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11344860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoralFlower/pseuds/CoralFlowerDaylight
Summary: Staggering, stickiness, humidity. That's how it always is in the Midwest. Ohio. Fucking Ohio. Still, better than Misery.Staggering, stickiness dripping. That's how it always is when you get fucking shot. Veronica. Fucking Veronica. Better than lucidity.(JD's POV during I Am Damaged and Dead Girl Walking (Reprise))





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> haha whoops its 1:06 AM

Staggering, stickiness, humidity. That's how it always is in the Midwest. Ohio. Fucking Ohio. Still, better than Misery.

Staggering, stickiness dripping. That's how it always is when you get fucking shot. Veronica. Fucking Veronica. Better than lucidity.

She was so soft, voice staggeringly full and oh god she thinks she's alone. She was so hard, eyes powerful and so passionate and oh god she just needed you to stop-- you never know when to stop.

She was so sweet, pressed up against you with her lips at your ear. She was so sour, when she shoved you away and well you deserved that. She beat you fair and square, she won this war.

You'll trade your life for hers; you would've from the start, when she shoved you down onto your knees and called you beautiful-- you cried about it later without knowing why and you still don't know why, but at least you have that moment and her words frozen in your brain while the ache of the blood you're losing makes you finish losing yourself. You were nothing this whole time. It's fine. You're fine.

Looking up at her that night you saw someone worth it and you knew in that moment-- you didn't want her to marry a lawyer. She might, now. It's not your problem. Your problem is she's trying to get herself killed, probably thinks she deserves it, probably thinks this is all her fault.

She stands in the centre of the football field cradling the 'bomb' against her chest like she did to you that night when everything was over and both of you were too worn out to keep going. You've always been an explosion waiting to happen. Everything is over. Both of you are too worn down to keep going.

Her love is god, more real than anything else you've believed in, more real than all your hopes for a better future because her love is here and now and it feels good like drinking a slushie, like on your knees looking up at her and she touched your lips so softly and called you beautiful and you cried and you cried and you cried.

And you cry.

You are damaged, far too damaged, but she's not beyond repair. She could plant a garden here. You want to touch her hair.

Instead you pat her shoulder. She flinches.

"I'm gonna need, uh..."

She nods.

You take yourself from her, and she staggers back, finally unburdened.

"Little further."

It hurts to watch her back away and know that this is your fault. Her eyes are red like she's been crying and she probably has and she probably definitely thinks it's her fault and she thinks she deserves to die--

Her love is god.

"Say hi to god."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt plan to continue this, but considering my history of extending so many of my so-called 'oneshots,' i probably could have predicted it would happen.

She's dead, she's gone, she-- left you, you're convinced she knew what she was doing and she waved-- no, no, Veronica didn't wave, that's wrong, you're getting things confused.

Your plan is foolproof, though, and that's what matters. Not Veronica-proof, but then she never was a fool, and she's gone.

"Step away from the bomb."

That voice. You look up and feel your features twist for just a moment before you get it under control and plaster a smirk across your face.

"And here I thought you'd lost your taste for faking suicides."

You pretend you can't see the expression on her face, the one she wears when determined and maybe a little afraid. She's afraid of you.

Well, fine, that's fine, if she wants to be. You aren't going to stop.

"And, oh, this little thing? I'd hardly call this a bomb. This is to trigger the packs of thermals upstairs in the gym. Now those?"

You reach into your coat, and point the gun straight at her. She doesn't flinch. Her only reaction is to square her shoulders and press her lips together to stop them trembling.

"Those are bombs."

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, at which point you realise you're holding yours and breathe in too. You almost lower the gun, but, but, but

You won't stop for anything. This is your choice, and you'll cling to it harder than she did to you that night in the cemetery after it all ended.

You explain everything you're thinking in a voice that makes her slowly get more and more incensed, fists clenched, brow furrowed.

"You know the only place Heathers and Marthas can truly get along?"

You click the safety off and this time she flinches and so do you because what are you doing you don't don't _don't_ want to kill her but-- does she know that? Okay, this could work, this could still work.

"Heaven."

And she squares her jaw and-- leans towards you.

"I wish your mom had been a little stronger."

You laugh, softly, and clench your jaw. You can't fucking believe this, is she really, _really_ trying this? You aren't going to stop. Everything depends on you, you need to keep going.

"I wish she'd stayed around a little longer."

She steps forwards, and you back away without thinking and then suddenly, suddenly she's shouting.

"I _wish_ your dad were good, I wish grown-ups understood,"

She's stalking towards you now and it's honestly just a huge struggle keeping a neutral expression on your face, you feel everything in you tightening, tensing up, your finger moved to the trigger at some point without your permission-- you move it back off, carefully, precisely, because you _don't don't don't_ want to kill her--

"I wish we'd met before; they convinced you life is _war,_ "

Life _is_ war. She reaches out to you like she wants to shove you to your knees again, touch your face, and if she had? You probably would have given up this whole thing, given in to her, because she is the only thing that's right about this broken world, the only one you'd trust to disagree and still be right. But she doesn't. She pulls her hand back when you grimace, and instead says, in a tone that sounds like whispering, only louder,

"I wish you'd come with me--"

And then you have to say something, but you _can't_ say what you mean, so you settle for,

"I wish I had more TNT,"

She lunges, and you force the muscles in your arms to relax because you don't don't don't want to kill her.

And then a struggle ensues, wherein you do your best to get the gun back without touching the trigger and she tries to get it away from you. You can hear a cheer from the gym above you.

Then the gun goes off, and she screams, and for just a moment you're sincerely fucking terrified. But time starts again: the the force of the impact catches up to your brain, and the pain hits. Relief floods your body like taking a shot. Thank god, thank god. Your chest burns. You have to fight the urge to cough, because you know-- once you start, you will not stop. Just like drinking. Just like vodka. There's a warmth in your chest that hugs the line between painful and pleasant, but you decide on pleasant, because its presence means not her not her _not her,_ and you could cry from relief.

You stagger back from her, and then your knees give out and you can just barely see the horrified look on her face as you fall. You cast about for something funny to say, something to lighten the mood; you want to see her smile one more time, you want to hear her laugh.

"Was that good for you?"

You breathe in carefully to get enough air to say the next part.

"Cus it kinda sucked for me."

You hold your breath and listen carefully for her to laugh, but she doesn't, just says your name, horrified, and you can only hold in the strangled gasp of pain for so long before it ruins your chances of seeing anything but her concern before you fucking die, god, why did getting shot have to hurt so bad?

and then she's on her knees next to you and you can't even hold the gun up anymore and god shes so beautiful and you want to reach up and touch her face and

You come to some time later. Veronica is gone, and so is the bomb. You have a feeling they're together. You have a feeling you know where.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a comment if you enjoyed!!!

**Author's Note:**

> please comment if you liked this!!


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